Song of the Spirits (99 page)

“Elaine’s fiancé,” Ruben noted, smiling. “Supposedly the right one, finally. Mr. Greenwood has news about the divorce, Tim. Good news!”

Elaine looked as though she were perishing to hear the news, whereas Timothy could think about nothing except the mine. How had Matt presented himself? And his father? How were the negotiations going, and might they already have come to some agreement?

“Lambert?” asked George, sizing up Timothy with a probing look. “Any relation to the mining Lamberts?”

Timothy nodded. “The son,” he said with resignation.

George furrowed his brow. “But that can’t be.”

Timothy flared up at him. Suddenly all his pent-up anger and frustration surged inside him, and he could not restrain himself.

“Mr. Greenwood, I have my problems, but I can provide accurate information regarding my parentage.”

George did not look angry. He smiled.

“No one is questioning that, Mr. Lambert. I’m only a bit surprised. Here…” He reached for a few papers that he had carelessly thrown on the table earlier, “It’s the information in the prospectus, but read for yourself.”

Timothy reached for the files and skimmed the section on the subject of “heirs.”

Marvin Lambert’s only son is sickly and in all likelihood will never be able to manage the company. The desire of the family to quickly liquidate at least a portion of the mine can be understood by the need to ensure the invalid’s income in perpetuity…

Timothy went pale.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Lambert,” George said. “But after this report, I would have thought that the son in question was more likely in a sanitarium in Switzerland than on a horse at the train station in Greymouth.”

Timothy took a deep breath. He would need to calm down if he was going to make it through this evening.

“Forgive me, Mr. Greenwood, but I had no idea. To whom do I owe this depiction of my health? My father or Mr. Weber?”

“You know of Mr. Weber’s involvement?” George Greenwood asked.

“Word is all over town,” Timothy replied. “And Florence Biller, Mr. Weber’s daughter, would no doubt be thrilled to consolidate the management of the Biller and Lambert mines. That would give her two mines.” He turned away. “Perhaps I should have taken Kura’s advice.”

“Kura’s advice?” Elaine asked jealously.

“A bad joke,” Timothy said wearily.

“And why is it exactly that you don’t want to manage the mine?” George asked. “Interested in something else altogether? Ruben said you might take over the business in Westport.”

Timothy bristled. “Sir, I’m a mining engineer. I have diplomas from two European universities and practical experience in mines in six countries. It’s not a question of not wanting to. But my father and I are of differing opinions on a few important matters concerning the management of the mine.”

George’s alert gaze wandered over Timothy’s body.

“Is your condition a result of these… differing opinions? You can speak frankly; I know about the explosion in the mine and its largely obscured causes. And also about two men, including one from
management, who went into the mine immediately following the accident. One of them is dead.”

“As far as my father is concerned, the other one is too,” Timothy said hoarsely.

Elaine interrupted. “Will you finally tell us something about the divorce, Uncle George?” She had been horsing around with her brother and was entirely unaware of the serious turn that the conversation between Timothy and her uncle had just taken. “You two can talk about the mine afterward. Besides, I’m hungry.”

Timothy was not hungry. He looked George Greenwood in the eye.

“We’ll talk about it at greater length tomorrow,” George said. “Tête-à-tête. Come to my suite at nine and bring along your diplomas. Though I think we’ll come to an agreement very quickly. After all, I just bought sixty percent of your mine’s shares, Mr. Lambert. I get to decide who’s dead.”

George Greenwood took his time with the news of the divorce. Only when the first course had been placed in front of him did he finally begin answering Elaine’s persistent questions.

“Thomas Sideblossom will agree to the divorce,” he finally declared. “One of our attorneys spoke with John’s widow. She’s staying at Lionel Station at the moment but will return to Blenheim and speak with him as soon as she has settled matters in Otago.”

“She can talk all she wants,” Elaine said doubtfully, “but what makes her think Thomas will listen to her?”

“Oh, according to Mrs. Sideblossom, the divorce is in his own interest,” George said, smiling benignly. “As soon as it’s finalized, he plans to marry his former stepmother.”

“What?” Elaine exclaimed with such force that she choked on her crayfish cocktail and began to cough. When she finally regained her composure, there was panic in her eyes.

“She can’t do that,” she whispered. “Zoé, I mean. She…”

“I asked her twice myself if she was sure,” George confessed, “before the connections made sense to me.”

“Oh?” asked Stephen, surprised, playing with the food in his glass. He did not like seafood and was trying to remove the crayfish tails inconspicuously from the other components of the appetizer. “But it’s obvious. The lady really doesn’t have any choice.” Stephen made a crayfish tail disappear under the table, where Callie greedily seized it.

“But Thomas is… He’s awful. I have to warn her,” stammered Elaine, laying her silverware down as though she intended to leap up and leave right then to contact Zoé Sideblossom.

“Thomas is in an asylum for the mentally deranged,” Timothy reminded her gently, laying his hand on hers. “He can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

“Precisely,” Stephen continued calmly, “but he remains the heir of Lionel Station. And the way I figure it, this John Sideblossom fellow never made a detailed testament stating that his wife was to be provided with a certain bequest in the event of his death. In which case, she’s more or less penniless right now. She could perhaps continue to live on Lionel Station, but even in that regard, Elaine could make things difficult for her.”

“Me?” Elaine asked, taken aback. She seemed to have regained some of her strength.

“Of course you,” her father said. “As his wife, you still constitute Thomas’s next of kin. You have the power of disposal over his goods, and if he should die, you’d be the sole heiress.”

Elaine turned pale again.

“It gets better,” Stephen went on, savoring his words. “If, for example, these doctors in the insane asylum succeed in driving out what’s left of good old Thomas’s reason—they won’t need more than a year or two for that—you could have him legally incapacitated. And from then on, you’d be the mistress of a handsome farm and twelve thousand sheep. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?” Stephen grinned.

Elaine ran her trembling hands over the tablecloth.

“You should also think about Callie’s needs,” Stephen added with a serious face. The little dog wagged her tail when she heard her name and looked up at Stephen adoringly, hungering for another treat. “She’s a sheepdog after all. She needs a few sheep.”

Only then did Elaine realize that her brother was joking, and she attempted a feeble smile.

“In all seriousness, Elaine, from a financial perspective, you might want to reconsider the divorce in light of all this,” said George Greenwood. “We’re in an excellent negotiating position. Perhaps Mrs. Sideblossom would be amenable to arranging an alimony agreement.”

Elaine shook her head violently. “I don’t want any money from them,” she whispered. “Let Zoé have it. I just never want to see him again.”

“We should be able to arrange that without any trouble,” George said. “According to my attorney, Zoé is planning to relocate to London. As soon as her future husband is capable of travel and their marriage is finalized. She’s already found a suitable and pleasant sanatorium in Lancashire where she can safely lock him up. Apparently, the asylums in England are more modern and offer greater chances of recovery.”

Stephen smiled. “Even more importantly, however, London is much more attractive for young widows than a remote corner of Lake Pukaki.”

“I hope she’ll be happy,” Elaine said seriously. “She was not very nice to me, but I believe she’s been through quite a bit. If she finds what she’s looking for in England, that would be all right with me. How long does your lawyer think it will take, Uncle George?”

“You can start working on your dancing again,” Elaine said tenderly. It was much later that evening, and she was a little tipsy from the champagne and the prospect of finally being free. Timothy kissed her in front of the hotel stables while Roly hitched Fellow to the chaise.

“And if I understood Uncle George correctly, we won’t even have to go to Wales.”

Timothy nodded and stroked her hair.

“And if
I
understood Uncle George correctly, I’ll be calling the tune soon enough,” he said fiercely. “Florence Biller will be amazed at how much life is still left in the Lambert Mine.” He smiled. “I just feel sorry for Callie on account of all those little sheep she’ll be missing out on.” Callie heard her name and leaped up on him. “Of course, we could get ahold of a couple and let them pasture in the mining compound.”

Elaine laughed and petted her dog. “Nonsense, she’ll be herding children soon!”

T
imothy Lambert took possession of his new office. It was somewhat smaller than his father’s—just to keep up appearances. Officially Marvin Lambert was still in charge of his mine. Still, Timothy commanded more space than Matt Gawain, whose office adjoined his own. Both rooms were located on the ground floor, brightly lit, and offered a wide view of the most important mining structures. Timothy had the headframe tower in view, so he could watch the men arrive for their shift. Soon he would also be looking out over the tracks on which they would be conveying the coal they had extracted directly to the train line. But even now there was brisk activity out front. New mining lamps, modern helmets, and trolleys for moving the coal underground were being delivered, and Matt was out speaking to a group of new miners, some of whom had come directly from coal-mining regions in England and Wales. George Greenwood had advertised for new immigrants with mining knowledge in the immigration ports of Lyttelton and Dunedin.

Timothy took a deep breath but had little time to take a closer look around his new domain, because Lester Harding, his father’s secretary, materialized to welcome him. The disingenuous servility of the man immediately robbed Timothy of his good mood.

“Shall I bring you an armchair, Mr. Lambert? It would be a little more comfortable for you. Would you like a glass of water?”

Timothy did not want to get angry, but if he did not put this man in his place at once, he would get on his nerves every day. So he merely cast an appraising look at the no-doubt-comfortable-but-low leather armchair that had been placed next to a small table and a tiny house bar in a corner of his office.

“I don’t know about you, but I generally prefer to work at my desk rather than down there,” he explained frostily. “And since I am of a normal height, the chair at my desk suits me just fine. After”—he looked at the clock—“less than a minute in this office, I don’t need any refreshments either. If Mr. Gawain comes in later, however, you are perfectly welcome to serve us some tea.” Timothy smiled to take the edge off his words. “Until then, just bring me the balances for the last two months, and the catalogs for our most important construction-material suppliers.”

Lester Harding exited the room with an indignant expression.

Timothy forgot him immediately. Time would tell whether he could work with the man. If not, he could find another secretary. There was no rush. He would run this office and this mine according to what he thought best.